


The Cure To Pain

by rejectofsociety



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Parents, Angst, Awesome Michelle Jones, BAMF Michelle Jones, Blood and Gore, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, Love at First Sight, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Parenthood, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Protective Michelle Jones, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Venom Symbiote (Marvel), Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence, Whump, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man), more like love ten minutes after first sight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rejectofsociety/pseuds/rejectofsociety
Summary: Michelle was a light-footed thief while Peter was a brutal bank robber— they were perfectly imperfect for each other. They made their living off of stealing what they could get their hands on then selling it to the highest bidder. They lived recklessly and free of consequences... well... mostly. Sex without protection tends to result in (possibly unfavorable) aftermath. Now, with a baby on the way, it’s time for some major life adjustments. But first, one last robbery to ensure the family will live comfortably for the rest of their lives.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker/Venom
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. How I Met Your Father

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Michelle stared at her surroundings, her eyes wide with horror. She had seen blood and gore constantly throughout the sixteen years she had been alive— but this was something completely alien to her senses. There were crimson pools covering the marble floor and seeping into the cracks between tiles, limbs torn messily off bodies like a dog had used them as a casual play toy, and heads missing without a trace— all done in an act of malicious fun.

She inhaled sharply through her nose, only for her breath to hitch and stomach twist into nauseating knots at the pungent scent of metallic blood and sickly sweet raw flesh. Her hands wrung anxiously and she forced a shaky exhale out of her parted lips as she scanned the museum sharply. Her senses were hyperactive and detecting sounds and motions as insignificant as a gentle draft rustling a torn curtain. Whatever had killed the countless security guards sprawled out at her feet could still be in the building. The worst part? She had no idea what it looked like, if it was human or not, or where it could be. _It could be behind you._ She whirled around and stared into the void of the museum's pitch black halls. It seemed... peaceful enough. _Look up._ Her neck snapped back and she squinted at the ceiling high above her. As hoped, it was clear of danger... probably.

Michelle had learned to never shake off her anxieties or fears— they could often be a helpful tool. They kept her alert and focused, which was why she hadn't been caught and was still free to wear the sleek, skin-tight, leather suit she used during her robberies, as well as her silver wig and black mask that successfully disguised the shapes of her facial features. Due to a lack of pockets on the suit, Michelle often carried with her a matching satchel that was slung casually over her shoulder. 

As for her mask, it was minimalistic and many may wonder why she didn't choose a safer covering to hide her entire face. The answer was simple: for as long as she could remember, she hated it when things touched her— especially her face. The leather suit she was fine with— she was used to it, it moved with her body like a second skin and (despite being leather) it felt light and comfortable when it was wrapped around her. Masks were another story; when they covered her mouth and/or nose, she felt as though she were being suffocated— there wasn't enough room to breath and she would be sent into a panic. Luckily, this mask was made of fabric that had the weight of a feather and touched as little skin as possible, it's main purpose was to hide the shape of her face and cheekbones. This alone had proven to be more than helpful when it came to hiding her identity.

Michelle sighed heavily and used the scarce blotches of tile that were clear of blood as stepping stones as she leapt from one spot to another. She finally came to a graceful stop at the end of the massacre which halted at the archway of a hallway leading to a separate exhibit.

She quickly examined the display of skeletons and informational posters relating to the prehistoric era. However, she wasn't appreciating the preserved history. She was locating each security camera and mentally mapping out their range of vision. This was something she had done at least a hundred times, and she knew exactly what type of cameras these were, so plotting a path that danced around their range, she could waltz peacefully into the next exhibit without a single soul knowing she had robbed the place.

Her eyes locked with her first target— right behind a stegosaurus leg— and she tensed her muscles, ready to pounce. Before she could jump, the sound of hissing electricity sounded from above. She squinted up at a security camera only to watch it crackle then fall limp, as if it were sulking shamefully. Her brow knit in confusion, she examined the other cameras only to watch them hang their heads in embarrassment. If she was correct, that meant that someone had just shut down the museum's entire security system.

"Well shit," Michelle whispered to herself, "this is gonna be too easy."

With her path now free of obstacles, she hurried down the provided pathway, yet never let her anxieties fade. Whoever had been clearing her path, was clearly here to steal something same as her. Chances were their missions would intersect and a fight would breakout. The next exhibit— the one she was to rob— was the Dark Ages exhibit in all its glory with old armor and weapons, strange artifacts and stunning jewelry, plus seemingly endless arrays of informational posters and billboards.

As she stepped into the exhibit, her eyes focused on a distorted, shadowed figure that was illuminated only by the inadequate display lights. She squinted at the silhouette and let out an almost silent, shuddering breath.

The figure whipped its head around to look at her and she stumbled back a few steps. In the blink of an eye, the stranger was encased by what appeared to be shadowy tendrils. It was a bizarre substance that built up around him and disfigured him into the shape of a beast that towered over the girl.

"I-I'm not here to stop you," she quickly stammered out, "I'm stealing something too."

**_"Hmm..." the beast hummed in a deep, demonic voice, "what are you stealing?"_ **

"It's a gold necklace with a gray-" she was immediately cut off as the monster wrapped one enormous hand around her neck and smashed her back against a nearby wall.

She gasped and her hands smacked over its wrist; her hands seemed so tiny and useless in comparison to her opponent. Her throat felt as though it were caving in and her spine had a vicious amount of pressure forced against it.

**_"Wrong answer," it hissed furiously._ **

Michelle opened her mouth to speak, but no sound left her lips other than a wheezing breath. Claustrophobia swelled in her chest and a sense of panic made her heart pound loudly in her chest. Her lungs were hit with the reflex to hyperventilate yet her throat was too restricted to allow any air in or out of her body.

**_"Should we eat her?" the beast asked, turning its head away from Michelle as if consulting another voice._ **

_Who is 'we?!'_ Michelle thought with panic. Her fingers dug into the tense flesh of the creature, as if that could help save her. The beast returned its attention to the shivering thief, a low growl rumbling in the back of its throat. Its large, pure white eyes narrowed and its rows of impossibly sharp teeth shimmered threateningly. _Shit, shit, shit! Michelle, you idiot! You should have turned back when you saw the dead bodies! How stupid are you?!_

**_"Fine," the enemy grumbled then dropped Michelle._ **

She hit the ground with a grunt and immediately drew in a deep, grateful breath of air. Her eyes were wide with terror and her throat was sore with lingering pain. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the monster withdrew and the original figure stood stiffly. With a tiny spark of hope, Michelle scrambled to her feet and darted towards the nearest exit. She only made it a few inches away before the other criminal grabbed her wrist harshly.

"Wait," he called, his voice sounded young and, despite what had happened a second ago, his touch felt warm and gentle, kind even.

She turned to look at him, her heart still beating violently with adrenaline. He couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen years old; his expression was soft and submissive and his curly hair was a wild mess. Cursing and beating herself internally, Michelle went against all her instincts and allowed her muscles to relax. She kept her eyes locked on the boy and he warily let go of her wrist, seeming to trust her enough to do so.

"You're stealing the gold necklace too?" he checked.

She nodded slowly, her neck aching awkwardly at the movement. Of course, she couldn't show her discomfort. Number one rule of confrontations: never show any sign of weakness— they could and would use it against you. However... this felt less like a confrontation and more like a negotiation.

"Yes," she replied stiffly.

He hesitated, as if taking a moment to consider his next words, "are you going to sell it?"

"No, I'm just stealing it because I have a collection of Medieval jewelry in my closet," she remarked sarcastically, her anxieties quickly beginning to fade upon realizing that this criminal was a child— same as her— and he was undeniably scared— same as her. 

"Oh, well in that case-"

"Yes, I'm planning on selling it," she interrupted, "I was being sarcastic."

His brow knit together and he turned his head towards the ground in the same way that his monster form had earlier. Michelle watched him intently, wishing she could crawl inside his head and answer every question she had. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what his motives were, and where the hell he came from. Was he as scared as he seemed? He put on the mask of a stern yet kind soul but, when she looked into his eyes, there were undeniable shadows of fear— but what did a monster have to fear?

"No," he hissed softly, "no we aren't eating her, shut up about that. She can keep the money... we'll find something else," his hands began to fidget with the sleeves of the oversized, black hoodie that he wore, "I... I don't know, man. We'll figure it out."

"I'm sorry- did you say something about eating me?" Michelle checked.

He locked eyes with her once more and stammered for a moment, "um- I- well... well the-the monster you saw, um, that's Venom. He likes eating people."

She stared at him a few moments, yet somehow his explanation only added to her confusion, "do... do you enjoy eating people?"

He shrugged slightly, his eyes focused on his feet, "I don't mind it," he looked up to see her startled appearance as she warily took a step away from him and he quickly changed the subject, "I-I really need that money-"

"So do I."

"I'm sure you do, but— and I'm not trying to guilt trip you here— I don't have a house," he admitted, his tone desperate, "I need somewhere to live and I need to eat— I don’t want to keep eating people. A-and my aunt," his voice broke as if the word ‘aunt’ had pounded him with a devastating memory, “I haven’t seen her in a while, b-but um… sh-she doesn’t have a lot of money, and I um…”

“Want to send some to her?” Michelle assumed, feeling no sympathy or remorse for the boy.

He nodded quickly and ducked his head, trying to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. Michelle sighed and folded her arms across her chest— chances were this was no more than a little show. 

“I get it, but— and I’m definitely trying to guilt trip you here— if I don’t get that money, I will literally die. Are you familiar with Kingpin?” 

He nodded and she continued. 

“Yeah? Well, I owe him some money, and if I don’t pay him back tonight, he kills me. I know you don’t care about me-”

“I care about you,” he interrupted, regaining eye-contact. 

Michelle froze as if his words had slapped her across the face like an abusive boss. She stared at him with confused eyes and her jaw slightly dropped.

“But…” she managed gradually, “you don’t even know me.”

“I guess not,” he shrugged, “but you’re in a bad situation and I know what it’s like to be in a bad situation, so I can at least be sympathetic towards you.”

“Those security guards were in a pretty bad situation and you had no problem killing them,” she pointed out.

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t really care for cops— or security guards.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and amusement decorated her eyes, she could at least appreciate their shared hatred.

Without a word, she stalked past him and approached the glass habitat containing the grand necklace. It bore a chain made of shimmering gold and smoky-looking crystal that was encased in a golden frame that was lined with small rubies and emeralds.

With one clawed finger, she sliced through the glass and carved a lopsided circle like an expert. She gently pushed the circle, sending it tumbling inside the container with a clatter. She could feel the young villain’s eyes focused on her body as she gingerly reached in, wrapped her fingers around its thin chain and withdrew it from its display case. She delicately hid it away in her satchel then turned back to the boy who fidgeted with his sleeves as he kept his head down— he mumbled a few words every now and then, making Michelle think he must have been talking to that monster. With a heavy sigh she tightened her jaw and thought to herself, _c’mon, Michelle. Don’t be an asshole._

“Come on,” Michelle said, keeping her annoyance towards herself out of her voice.

“What?” The stranger looked up at her.

“I said come on,” she repeated, “you can stay at my place tonight and if there’s any leftover money after I pay off Kingpin, we can give it to your aunt.”

His face lit up jubilantly like the fluorescent lights that made the museum glow on a busy day and an undeniable grin spread across his face in a way that made her heart skip a beat giddily. Her lips twitched into a tiny smile and she opened her mouth to speak, only to be quickly interrupted. A chorus of heavy footsteps followed by a series of shouts approached the two rapidly. 

“Here! Over here!”

A voice barked and Michelle’s eyes went wide. A low growl came from the back of the boy’s throat and she tensed her muscles, coiled and ready to attack. 

“Stay out of my way, please,” Peter warned, managing to be polite despite his threatening tone.

“I could say the same to you,” Michelle hissed. 

A group of roughly fifteen security guards flooded the exhibit with their guns ready and pointed at the two teens. Michelle glanced at the stranger at her side and their eyes briefly made contact before he turned back to the guard— his expression was surprisingly casual.

“On your knees!” One of the guards barked. 

“Sir, I’m a minor,” the boy replied plainly, earning a suppressed snort of laughter from Michelle.

“Get on your knees and put your hands in the air!” The guard repeated demandingly. 

“Watch your tone,” he criticized, “Venom, show this guy who’s in charge here.”

**_“Gladly,” Venom seethed as he enveloped the boy once more._ **

Michelle watched with wide eyes as the massive beast towered over the men condescendingly. 

“Fire!” one man ordered.

“No!” Michelle yelped, more out of reflex than actually worry.

As a cascade of bullets rained down on Venom, the beast swept up one thrashing guard and sank his teeth into their screaming head, tearing it off effortlessly. Michelle’s hands clapped over her mouth and her eyes went wide with horror as she stared helplessly at the sight. Her muscles were frozen stiff and trembling— she had never witnessed something so bizarre and brutal before. 

Venom barrelled through the guards as if he were swatting away flies, carelessly murdering each of them in cold blood. He tore off their limbs and cast aside decapitated heads, he even swallowed one man whole. 

It took hardly more than a minute for the beast to destroy the enemies and, by the end of it all, Michelle felt her stomach twisting and churning in the most nauseating way and her head was impossibly light. She forced herself to sit on her knees, out of fear of fainting. 

Venom disappeared yet again and the boy calmly knelt down beside a corpse that was oozing with fresh, warm blood that pleased his senses. He gripped the headless body by its shoulders and raised its chest to his lips— Michelle could already see his mouth watering as she watched his teeth morphed into Venom’s lengthy, needle-like teeth and he opened his mouth to take a bite.

“O-oh my god! Don’t!” Michelle cried.

The young criminal drew away from the corpse and looked over at her, his voice all to calm and casual for her liking, “but I’m hungry,” he said as if he were an innocent child who had been caught stealing cookies from a jar.

“I-i have food at my place!” she snapped exasperatedly, “just don’t eat anyone!”

His teeth returned to their usual shape and he simpered sweetly, “thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

“Whatever,” she huffed, carefully keeping her eyes away from the bloody scene in front of her.

Michelle carefully rose to her feet, drawing in deep breaths of air to keep herself calm as she reached for the stranger’s hand. He stared at her outstretched paw uncertainly for a beat before she quickly snatched his hand and heaved him onto his feet. For a strange reason she couldn’t explain, a small part of her refused to let go of his grip. It felt so strong and protective— not like she needed his protection, but the sense of safety that he brought her was a rare occurrence and she couldn’t be blamed for wanting to savor the feeling. 

“What’s your name?” Michelle asked as she quickly led the stranger out of the museum, as if he didn’t know the way himself.

“I feel like I shouldn’t tell you that,” he replied, “isn’t that a pretty basic rule? ‘Don’t reveal your identity to anyone?’”

“Good instinct,” she blandly praised, “got a nickname I can call you?”

“Venom works fine.”

“I thought that was the… the monster’s name.”

“I mean, it is. But sometimes it’s mine. Sometimes we’re both Venom.”

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as they hurried out of the dinosaur exhibit, “do you have, like, some split-personality disorder or something? You’re a little package, but there’s a lot to unpack.”

He laughed a genuine, dorky laugh that made Michelle’s heart skip a beat, “no. Venom is a separate entity— he’s a symbiote and I’m his host.”

“Oh. Kinda like a parasite?”

His body jolted as if someone had screamed in his ears, “shit! Um, Ve-venom doesn’t like the term parasite.”“Sorry, Venom,” she quickly apologized. 

He sighed, “it’s okay.”

Michelle slowed to a stop at a clearing with a ceiling completely made of windows shaped to form a dome. Venom slowed to a stop with her, still not letting go of her hand— he hardly noticed that he had been holding it. For a moment, he observed her features which were elegantly illuminated in a goddess-like fashion by the moon’s light that shown through the windows above— with her silver hair shimmering like diamonds and skin practically glowing, she could have been mistaken for an angel (or at least what he assumed an angel would look like). 

“You didn’t drive here, right?” Michelle checked. 

“I don’t know how to drive,” he replied, being shaken out of his thoughts, “what about you?”

“I can drive, I just don’t have a car,” she explained, “are you okay with roof-jumping?”

He beamed a bright smile, “that’s perfect.”

“Great, can your buddy get us on the roof?”

“I got it,” he shrugged. 

Before Michelle could ask anymore questions, Venom craned his neck to look up at the dome then extended a inky black tendril from his arm. The vine of darkness reached up to the windows and gingerly removed a panel of glass then set it off to the side with a shocking amount of care. 

“Wow,” Michelle observed, “you’re cool with eating the guards and robbing the place, but you draw the line at breaking windows?”

He shrugged, “I didn’t want you to get cut.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips then he continued. 

“Um… you might wanna hold on to me,” he suggested, “holding hands is nice, but not very secure.”

“Oh- um,” she snatched her hand away from him, leaving a disappointing coldness to hit her palm.

She awkwardly wrapped her arms around his neck and he snaked one strong, bulky arm around her waist, holding her close to his body (which was surprisingly muscular). With his extended tendril, he pulled himself and Michelle off the ground and carried them to the roof at a steady rate. As much as she hated things touching her, she didn’t mind Venom’s touch— in fact, she enjoyed it. However, it would be much more enjoyable if she wasn’t so stiff and if her satchel holding the lumpy and uncomfortable necklace wasn’t sandwiched between their bodies. 

Soon enough, they reached the exit and Michelle heaved herself through the opening with Venom in tow. Together, they slid down the dome like a slide and stumbled to a stop on the solid ground. The museum’s roof was almost like a miniature park— it was mainly concrete flooring but there were also elegant and neatly trimmed hedges, tables to dine and gossip at, and a small bar decorated with healthy and full plants with shimmering leaves. 

The night’s frigid air enveloped them, yet neither were bothered by it. In fact, the cool breeze was refreshing and sweet to their senses. The stars that should have been high in the sky were hidden away behind a sheet of light pollution. Michelle had never seen real stars before, not the kind she saw in photographs on the internet where the sky was deep blues and purples with stars decorating the atmosphere like a flamboyant actress. Part of her wondered if Venom had ever seen real stars— he seemed like the type who could get around easily. 

“It’s a nice night,” Venom commented.

“Yeah, now let’s go. The police could arrive any minute,” Michelle replied sharply.

“I have an idea,” he said quickly, “how do you feel about flying?”

Her eyes widened, “you can fly?”

“Not quite, but it’s close. Wanna try?”

She hesitated then slowly nodded. She knew she probably shouldn’t trust this stranger but for some bizarre reason she trusted him with her life.

Venom muttered for her to hold on tightly and she obeyed, wrapping her arms around his neck then he assisted her in wrapping her legs around his waist. Like earlier, he kept one arm tightly around her waist and this time he made sure Michelle’s satchel was out of their way. Dark tendrils extended from his body and coiled around her body, keeping her securely stuck to his side. 

“Ready?” he checked.

“Yep,” she lied, “totally.”

“Alright. Just remember I got you, you won’t fall,” he promised. 

Almost against her will, Michelle nuzzled closer to him with her muscles surprisingly relaxed— she almost forgot that he had killed fifteen grown men just minutes ago. Then, she heard a quiet _thwip! and_ they were yanked into the air with a jolt. She yelped in surprise as the two were engulfed by freezing air speeding past them and whistling in their ears. Her stomach rose and fell in unison with the rhythm of Venom plummeting to the ground only to launch back into the air again. With her head buried in his neck, she warily lifted her gaze and cracked open her eyes only to find herself met with the sight of the city blurred and speeding past her as the two raced through as if they were riding an invisible roller coaster.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod,” Michelle rambled flusteredly, panic rising in her chest. 

“Are you okay?” he called to her. 

“Yeahyeahyeah,” she lied quickly, shutting her eyes frantically, “I just- ohmygod!- I just won’t look- holy shit!”

He laughed his sweet laugh in response and she held onto him so tightly, she was certain he would be bruised in the morning. And yet, she knew that if she let go, he would hold her tight and never let her go. She could feel the strange, alien tendrils coiled around her safely, his arm around her back sternly and every muscle in his body tense with focus— he really was taking care of her. Her own body began to relax and in a moment of bravery, she raised her head and her eyes fluttered open. Her hair (yeah, it was a wig, don’t question how it hadn’t fallen off yet) whipped wildly around in her face, blocking her view of the city. With one arm still hugging Venom’s neck, she warily withdrew her other hand and raised it to her face, gingerly brushing her silver strands out of her way. 

“Look at that,” Venom spoke, his voice sparked with sarcastic praise, “you’re not screaming.”

“Oh, shush. I just needed a minute,” she huffed. 

He rolled his eyes playfully, but his demeanor quickly faded into a serious one, “just a warning: I’ve never made it this far without dropping someone so…”

Michelle’s eyes widened and her free hand snapped onto him quickly, gripping his hoodie for dear life as she exclaimed, “what?!”

He threw back his head and laughed as he swooped down low enough that his feet almost kissed the sidewalk below. Just a quickly, the two flew back into the atmosphere, his precious smile never leaving his face. 

“I’m kidding. I’ve never dropped someone before,” he assured, and her grip relaxed.

“Good,” she looked off in the distance and spotted a shabby apartment building sitting in the most mangy, bleak corner of the city next to a set of subway rails, “see that building?”

“Hm?” He followed her pointing finger with his sharp vision, “yeah, I see it.”

“That’s my place.”

“Looks…”

“Like shit?”

“From here, yeah. But I bet it looks better with you in it.”

“Th- wait, what?”

“Hm?” He hummed innocently. 

“You just- never mind,” she shook her head. 

A sheepish smile twitched awkwardly onto his lips and she examined his soft expression quietly. Now that she had the light of the sleepless city and moon illuminating his face, Michelle could get the perfect view of his handsomely shaped facial features and gentle brown eyes. His hair was tousled and matted, plus it was clear that he hadn’t been keeping up on his personal hygiene. His eyes were what really stood out to her— they were so kind and innocent yet held harsh shadows of cruel trauma intertwined with a cold, broken gaze. Insomnia had painted dark shadows under his eyes, making her realize how bloodshot with exhaustion they were. _He’s kinda cute…_ she observed silently. Upon realizing she was staring, she quickly shifted her gaze to the city around them; she had to blink her eyes and squint to see through the wicked wind, but it was worth it to observe the sight surrounding them. There were moments when she felt as though there was absolutely no gravity, and the two were floating peacefully through the air. Wonder filled her chest as her gaze continuously switched from the stranger to the city and she mused to herself, _how the hell does he do that? What is he doing? It’s like we’re flying but… not._

“We have arrived at our destination,” Venom dorkily remarked as he swiftly landed behind the building, out of way from peering eyes. 

“Cool, um…” she hesitantly untangled herself from his grip and he compliantly withdrew his arm and tendrils. 

As she stumbled off him and onto the ground, her legs felt strangely light— almost like they were floating. For a few beats, she found herself unconsciously staring at the boy before her. She looked him up and down a few times, as if searching for the source of whatever the hell just happened. 

“How did you do that?” She finally asked.

He held out his hands, palms up, “it’s a long story, but I have these weird spider-like powers. I can shoot webs from my wrists. My hands are also sticky— not in a gross way.”

She furrowed her brow, “may I…”

“Go ahead.”

She plucked a clawed, black glove off her hand and lightly rested her exposed fingertips on top of his. At first, his skin felt completely normal (aside from the butterflies it let loose in Michelle’s stomach) but soon enough, every tiny muscle in his hands tensed and she felt as though hundreds of microscopic hairs had taken hold of her fingers. She tried to draw her hand away from his, only to find it locked in place. 

“That’s… bizarre,” she commented, mildly grateful that his fingers refused to let go of hers, “I love it.”

He simpered shyly and mumbled, “thank you.”

She nodded then returned her gaze to his eyes, “you said you can shoot webs. Like… spider webs or…”

“Basically spider webs,” he explained, “I can attach webs to buildings and use them to swing around.”

“Wow, um… you’re gonna have to tell me more about that later,” she smiled slightly in amazement.

“Yeah, I will,” he promised.

He relaxed his hand and whatever had been clinging to Michelle’s skin released her. She muttered a ‘follow me,’ then grabbed his hand and led him to the apartment building’s back door. She slipped through the door with Venom in tow then they paced down an unlit hall until they reached the far corner of the building. Michelle pulled a key out of her satchel and unlocked the door, making sure to do so with only one hand, so she wouldn’t have to let go of Venom. They stepped inside the tiny, rundown apartment and she silently shut the door then flicked on the light. 

“So… here we are,” Michelle sighed, “it’s not much, I know.”

“No, it’s nice,” Venom disagreed as he looked around the room, “it’s more than I’ve had in a while.”

She observed him for a moment, and couldn’t help but smile at the gratefulness in his eyes, “let’s get you some food.”

Venom ate the most real food he had eaten in months that night. Michelle made him sandwiches and tater tots (requested by the monster) that he ate ravenously, making sure to thank her every chance he got. She watched him with a small, pitiful smile while her mind came up with a list of questions that needed answering. 

“You were really hungry,” she commented when he had finished eating.

“Definitely,” he agreed then added, “the other guy was hungry too.” 

“You need to feed him too?”

“Yeah, he eats a lot. But, if I don’t feed him he eats parts of me.”

Michelle gaped slightly, “o-oh my-”

“Sorry, you didn’t need to know that,” he frantically apologized.

“No, no,” she quickly replied, “it’s okay. Is that why you um… eat people?”

He nodded and averted his gaze shamefully with tears in his eyes, “I-i’m not proud of it. B-but I swear, I only eat people who deserve it.”

A tiny smile graced her lips, “like Edward?”

He looked up at her with his brow furrowed, “what?”

“Like Edward Cullen from _Twilight_. He would kill rapists and people like that.”

His eyes lit up and he barked a joyful laugh, “you like _Twilight_?”

“Absolutely not,” she shook her head, “I watched the movies once and I swear it was shit.”

“I mean, yeah the movies are shit, but isn’t there at least a _tiny_ part of you that kinda likes them?” he pressed.

She huffed and hesitantly spat out a plain statement, “I liked Edward.”

Again he laughed and Michelle couldn’t stop herself from smiling. It was such a sweet and pure sound, it almost made her believe that there was no way this kid could be a killer. Whoever had admitted to cannibalism and killed fifteen men in front of her was someone completely different. That was Venom— right now she was looking at someone else. Someone who was cute, lively, and lovable. 

“Everyone liked Edward,” he replied after taking a moment to laugh. 

“Exactly. Now, you look tired. You should get some sleep,” she suggested, then made sure to add: “in the morning I’ll give my buyer the necklace, I’ll pay back Kingpin, then we’ll anonymously give your aunt the rest, sound good?”

He nodded and thanked her then looked around the room— it was a studio apartment so there was no bedroom, rather a fold-down bed in the far corner. Michelle followed his gaze to the bed then froze. It was really quite painfully predictable and yet their situation lay snarkily in front of them: there was only one bed. The teens stared at the single bed in annoyance at the utterly cliche, highly overused trope. Of course there was only one bed! It was every fanfiction author’s favorite, obnoxiously ironic scenario (that, and enemies to lovers— but Michelle was certain they were safe from that one, seeing as they already seemed to be friends). 

“So…” Venom awkwardly spoke, “only one bed.”

“Couch,” she stated firmly— under no circumstances was she going to give in to this, “you are sleeping on the couch.”

“Fair,” he nodded stiffly.

* * *

Later that night (although it was more accurate to say extremely early the next morning) Michelle lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She had lent Venom a t-shirt and some sweatpants which he gratefully accepted, then she had changed into a tank top and pair of shorts. Venom lay on the couch not far from her bed, but he hadn’t slept a wink. Michelle could hear him quietly murmuring to himself— she couldn’t quite make out his words, but she could tell that his throat was tight. The kind of tightness that one would feel when they were on the verge of bursting into sobs, yet they fought back the wails desperately. She would never admit it aloud, but Michelle had one hell of a soft-spot for criers— especially the ones that worked so hard to hide it, as if they would be letting someone down by shedding tears. 

_Fuck,_ Michelle thought quietly to herself as she gingerly crawled out of bed. She tip-toed stealthily to the couch where Venom lay on his back with his hands hiding his face which was twisted into an expression of anguish. She lightly touched his arm, causing him to exhale a shuddering breath and hesitantly draw his hands away from his face, which now held a forced, relaxed expression.

“Hey,” he muttered softly, propping himself up on his elbows, “change your mind about the bed situation?”

“No,” she rolled her eyes and he smiled mischievously, “I wanted to see if you're okay.”

He sighed and nodded untruthfully, “yeah, I’m fine.”

“If you’re fine then why can’t you sleep?” she challenged. 

His face fell and Michelle could tell his stomach had just twisted into knots. She suspired quietly then gestured for him to move over. He obeyed and she took a seat next to him. For almost a minute, the two silently observed each other— Venom could see the shadows of compassion hidden under layers of disregard in Michelle’s eyes; she effortlessly spotted his distress that was delicately covered with nonchalance. 

“What’s your real name?” she asked. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” he replied. 

“You can trust me,” she promised, “can I trust you?”

Without hesitation, he nodded, “of course.”

“Good. Now, if you tell me your name I’ll tell you mine.”

He paused a moment, considering her offer, “sounds fair. My name’s Peter.”

Her lips pressed into a small smile, “that’s a cute name. It suits you.”

Even with the lack of light, she could tell a light blush had tinted his cheeks. A self-conscious simper twitched onto his lips and his eyes briefly flicked up and down her body— not in an inherently sexual way but in a mildly wary way, as if he were reading her body language to predict her motives. 

“I’m Michelle,” she stated.

His eyes brightened in a way she adored, “I love that name. It’s really pretty.”

She could only nod slightly, unsure of how to respond to the compliment. Peter stirred in his position then his eyes trailed to his hoodie that was neatly folded on the tiny coffee table. 

“Can you hand me my hoodie?” he requested softly.

She nodded then leaned forward and gathered the jacket in her hands only to pause when her fingers landed on something curious. She furrowed her brow and ran her fingers over a small hole in the fabric, right over where the user’s heart would be. She felt around it only to find a pang of disgust and horror hit her stomach when she touched a large section of awkwardly stiff cloth that made her realize the jacket’s chest had been soaked in blood and never washed. 

She looked over at Peter and shakily handed him the bloodied hoodie, his eyes were full of tears and it almost looked as if she were gazing into infinite voids that carried sorrow and guilt into their deepest depths. _What the hell happened to you, Peter?_ she couldn’t help but think, _what broke you?_

“Did you get hurt?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

“No,” he replied, gingerly taking the hoodie from her hands and slipping it onto his body, “it was my uncle’s,” he added quickly, “but it’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

Before Michelle could reply, Peter’s ears twitched in the way she had noticed they did when Venom spoke. Peter tilted his head away from Michelle and she let him reply. 

“Shut up,” he spat, with so much venomous hate dripping from every word it shocked Michelle, “it’s your fault. You did that, not me... _I said shut up. Don’t fucking lecture me._ ”

She could imagine Venom recoiling in guilt at Peter’s words, as if he were slinking back into a cave labeled ‘shame.’ Despite her undeniable curiosity, what the two said to each other was none of her business and she opted to pretend she hadn’t heard a single word.

“I’m sorry to hear about your uncle,” she murmured. 

He locked eyes with her and shrugged slightly, “it’s fine, really.”

Clearly, he was hiding something from her and every bit of her body yearned for answers. But, again, it was really none of her business. She didn’t even know why she cared about this boy, but for some reason she did— she didn’t want him hurting or having a monster in his head or being hungry and homeless. Of course, it wasn’t her job to babysit or take care of him, but she could at least help a fellow criminal out and get him back on his feet.

“How old are you?” she blurted.

“Um- I-i’m almost fifteen,” he awkwardly admitted, yet he was grateful that the topic had been changed. 

“ _Almost_? So you’re fourteen? You’re a _cannibal_ and a _criminal_ and you’re _fourteen_ _fucking years_ old?” Michelle punctuated each statement sharply, as if that could make the realizations puncture their skulls and sink in. 

“If I ever said something that misled you to believe I was okay or normal, I deeply apologize,” Peter replied, his tone too casual for Michelle’s liking.

“Yeah but… I mean,” she tripped and stumbled over her words as she processed his words, “you’re _fourteen years old._ That is so, so young! I mean, I’m only sixteen but that’s young too. You… we’re too young for this.”

He merely shrugged, “I don’t know about you, but I’m really new to all of this. And right now I’m just coping, y’know? I’m taking things as they come. One day, it’ll probably hit me— maybe a week from now, maybe longer— and I’ll probably be really overwhelmed. Chances are, I’ll react the way I should’ve reacted at first but never got the time to. But until then I’m just coping.”

Michelle sighed and felt some of the tension in her body release, “that makes sense. I think I’m kinda in the same boat. I’ve only been doing this a year, so I wasn’t much older than you when I started.”

He flashed a lopsided smile, “I’m glad I’m not alone.”

She shared his smile and nodded, “me too.”

“It’s nice having someone like you to talk to. Like, I have Venom but our relationship isn’t great. And I can’t talk to him about stuff like this because he already knows what I’m thinking and it just annoys him,” Peter admitted. 

“He should listen anyways,” she stated disapprovingly.

He beamed at her then cockily remarked to his monster, “hear that, Venom?... you shut up, jackass.”

Michelle chuckled quietly, imagining the bitterness and annoyance Venom would speak with, “you two seem to have a complicated relationship.”

“It’s extremely complicated,” he sighed, “but we’ll figure it out eventually. Again, I’m still new to this.”

“You’re like a couple trying to figure out how to date when neither of you have dated before,” she observed.

Peter laughed slightly and nodded, “I guess so, yeah.”

She smiled softly then covered her mouth with one hand to stifle a yawn. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, forcing her to realize just how tired she was. 

“We should get some sleep,” Michelle suggested.

He nodded, “yeah, thank you for talking to me.”

She smiled slightly, “anytime,” she then glanced over at her bed and sighed. 

Sitting next to Peter brought her a strange sense of warmth and protection— she hated it. She hated that she was already growing comfortable with and close to a complete stranger. She hated that she liked it when he touched her. She hated that she wanted to get to know him better— to know his favorite color, his dream job, his family, and to not only know his life story, but to be a part of it. What was _wrong_ with her? This never happened to her! Normally, she held an intense hate and distrust for every person she met— why was Peter different? What made him so special? What about him made her heart skip and jump like a giddy middle school girl and her body feel touch-starved when he wasn’t holding her hand or keeping his arm wrapped tightly around her while they swung through the city?

“My bed is… really cold,” she found herself saying, almost against her will.

“You can take the couch,” Peter offered politely. 

She smiled mischievously then pressed her hand to his chest, “lay down.”

He raised his eyebrows, “like… lay down right here on the couch?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. 

Peter’s eyes widened a little and his face grew a little feverish, “o-okay.”

He allowed her hand to gently push him until he lay comfortably on the couch while still making sure she had all the room she needed. She settled down next to him, laying on her side so she could look into his eyes. Their hearts beat gently in unison; they both felt so much safer and more comfortable being close together. 

“I know this doesn’t make any sense,” Michelle spoke softly, “but I feel like you’re the only person on the planet that I don’t hate.”

“No, it makes sense,” Peter assured gently, “I feel the same way.”

Her eyes lit up like the sparklers children would play with at a festival and her chest swelled with joy that bubbled up within her. She wrapped her arms around him and he nuzzled into her touch like she was a warm blanket that could engulf him in safety and comfort. In her entire life, that was the closest she had ever gotten to saying ‘I love you,’ and the closest anyone had ever gotten to saying ‘I love you too.’


	2. You Are The Cause Of My Euphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about as mentally stable as it gets.
> 
> Also, please excuse the BTS reference in the chapter title.

_ Six Years Later…  _

Peter had never loved himself or his life as much as he had with Michelle in it— she seemed to make his flaws perfect, she healed his pain like a medical expert, and stitched his broken heart together without even trying. She made every little moment beautiful in ways he never thought possible and made him feel free even when he was bound down with chains of despair; she would merely whip out a key and unlock the chains, freeing him from the prison of his mind. He adored her with every fiber in his body and he knew she felt the same— she’d said it countless times with both words, actions, and her eyes. Her russet eyes were always so deep and intense with her devotion to him, and every time he kissed her (whether it was gentle or passionate) he would pull away to see the sparkling euphoria decorating her eyes— he was her drug, and she was his.

Call it an odd explanation, but for the first time in her short life, Michelle felt like an actual human being. She finally felt whole and real when her entire childhood was spent feeling like a shadow or a fraction of a human. Being that absolute nerd that he was, Peter could probably do the math and display the equations to explain what she had been missing all those years before he came into her life. She was never lonely anymore, even when she was alone because she always knew Peter would grace her with his presence soon enough. Even his counterpart, Venom, she had grown to admire in a strange way. While Venom was incredibly hesitant to display any form of emotion (other than anger), she could tell he had a certain amount of admiration for her. She could tell by the way he lingered in her touch when she rested her hand on the side of his face when calming him down and the way he spoke more gently to her than anyone else. Like Peter, he made her feel safe, like her body was made of vibranium when he was around— she knew Venom would never allow harm to lay a single finger on her. 

Michelle was absolutely right, too. Venom did hold an undeniably strong flame of fondness for her. In fact, the relationship was practically polyamorus between the three villains, except for the way that Peter and his symbiote had merged together over the years. There were moments when the two couldn’t tell who was in control and who was backseat driving. In certain aspects, they had adopted each other’s personalities— not in a way that masked their original traits, rather in a way that added on to existing habits. This wasn’t a problem for either of them, and it was far from problematic for Michelle, seeing as she adored them both. And, yes, Venom had a certain amount of affection for Peter too. He had promised himself to never allow his host to be harmed— he’d never let the youngling be taken away from Michelle. 

While their scene may have appeared to have been a light and fluffy love fest, rest assured that it was far from that. 

“Nobody move! This is a robbery!” Peter barked as he rushed into the bank.

A shudder of satisfaction ran down his spine at the scent of fear that filled his nose almost instantly. It mostly smelled of cold sweat, but with a sense of smell as strong as is, he could practically taste the pheromones as well as every tiny chemical reaction. It was disgusting that it brought him so much joy.

Everything just below his eyes was hidden by a sleek, black mask formed by Venom’s inky tendrils lacing around Peter’s face. The young man wore a plain, gray t-shirt with his uncle’s hoodie plus a pair of blue jeans; he also had his girlfriend’s satchel slung over his shoulder, it was the same one she had been using when they first met. 

“Get on the ground with your hands on your head,” he shouted and the small crowd obeyed, “anyone who moves  _ will _ be shot!”

He held his gun out and in a tight grip, displaying it for all the bystanders to see. The scent of their adrenaline was pungent, yet it failed to enact flight or fight in anyone— instead, it forced them to freeze. That was the side of adrenaline no one ever spoke of: the cowardly side that urged its host to play dead until danger passed. 

“Sir ,” he approached the smallest, most vulnerable bank teller who had been half-way through cashing a check, “I'm gonna have to ask you to take all that money,” he slipped Michelle’s satchel off his shoulder and tossed it onto the counter, “and put it in there, got it?”

The bank teller nodded his head rapidly, keeping his eyes off the gun pointed at the center of her head. Peter clutched the gun as he listened to the sweet sound of the young man’s terrified, shuddering breaths as they unevenly left his parted lips and the wild pounding of his horrified heart. He watched his body tremble as his wide eyes glued themselves to his hands as they stuffed rolls of cash into the bag. 

_ “On your left,” Venom growled deeply. _

Peter whipped his head around to glare down at another bank teller whose eyes were glued to a cell phone as their hand warily and gradually wandered towards the device. Peter aimed his gun at the phone and fired a bullet that smacked into its target and deemed it useless. A chorus of screams and yelps echoed throughout the bystanders who still lay helplessly on the ground. 

“Did I not make myself clear?” He challenged sharply, “what did I tell you?!”

The bank teller stammered and shook for a moment. Peter snapped at them again.

“What did I tell you?!”

“A-anyone who moves gets sh-shot,” they choked out quietly, voice cracking and wobbling.

“That’s right,” he hissed, “now, do me a favor and lay on the ground with your hands on your head.”

They rapidly lowered themself to the ground then Peter returned his attention to the young man before him. He had just finished stuffing the bag full of cash when he briefly locked eyes with him. He frantically avoided Peter’s gaze, as if his eyes could kill him. 

“Is that all?” Peter demanded. 

He nodded quickly, “y-yes.”

“Thank you,” he took the satchel and slung it over his shoulder, then he pointed to the ground with the tip of his gun, “floor, please.”

As if he were his personal servant, he obeyed the villain without hesitation. Peter smirked under his symbiote-mask then whirled around to face his shivering crowd on the ground. 

“The moment I walk out this door, begin counting down from one hundred. When you reach zero, you can move,” he instructed as he began pacing towards the front door, “understood?”

Taking the horrified silence as a yes, Peter nodded in satisfaction then fled the bank. 

He ended up driving home in peace, without a single soul suspecting his crimes. He smiled to himself as he soaked in his easy victory, his chest feeling light and joyful like an innocent child.

_ “You don’t have to waste your time with petty bank robberies,” Venom pointed out, “we can do anything we want.” _

“I know,” Peter replied with a shrug, “but I like bank robberies.”

_ “Why?” _

“I don’t know. I guess… I think it has something to do with having that gun in my hand, y’know?”

_ “No.” _

“When you’re holding a gun, you’re the one giving orders— you’re calling all the shots.”

_ “Pun intended?” _

“No, but thank you for pointing it out,” he chuckled then continued, “when you gotta gun, you’re in charge. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve had control of absolutely nothing— I’ve never been in charge. So I guess a bank robbery is really just giving me absolutely everything I’ve ever wanted— besides Em, I got her from a museum robbery.”

_ “No, I think Michelle got you from the museum robbery,” Venom corrected.  _

Peter barked a laugh as he slowed the car to a stop on the side of the road, “you’re absolutely right.”

_ “If you want to be in control, why not do bigger robberies— like more museums?”  _

“Because I let you be in charge for those. I love them, don’t get me wrong, and I like letting you be in control, but sometimes I wanna turn.”

_ “Hmm,” he hummed, “that’s fair.” _

“Yeah,” Peter left his car then began walking towards his apartment, “man, you can read my mind— you’re literally inside my head. Why’re you asking me about this?”

_ “Probably because the author wanted to have the readers understand the opening scene,” the beast suggested. _

The young man shrugged, “maybe.”

When Peter entered his apartment, he was quickly met by Michelle wrapping her arms around his neck. A broad grin spread across his face and he hugged her waist as she pulled him into a kiss. She pressed her lips against his in a tender, loving kiss, feeling the gentle smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“Where’s V?” She demanded once she pulled out of the kiss, but she never let go of Peter.

**_Venom arose from Peter’s shoulder, like a pitch-black parrot, “I’m here.”_ **

Michelle smiled warmly as she reached up and lightly pet his head. Venom wouldn’t admit it, but he enjoyed occasional head pats— especially from Michelle. Even if he tried to hide it, the symbiote’s eyes squinted as if he were smiling brightly with joy. 

“So, how much money did you get?” She asked curiously.

“Only five hundred-ish,” he shrugged, “I was thinking about sending half May, then keeping the rest.”

“Why?”

“I mean, we gotta eat too, right?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she urged, “I sold a shit ton of weapon plans to Quentin, we won’t be needing dinner money for a while.”

He smiled and pulled her into another kiss, “I adore you.”

“I know,” she giggled before sealing their lips together.

Venom let out a slightly annoyed growl and the two broke away from each other. They knew the symbiote despised the role of third-wheel.

“What? You wanna a kiss too?” Michelle offered. 

**_“No. But I don’t want to watch you two kiss,” he huffed._ **

Either way, Michelle lightly pecked his head then withdrew her arms from her boyfriend’s neck. Peter dropped his arms to his sides, his smile never fading as he watched the young woman pace into their small kitchen. They lived in a rather large apartment in Atlanta which was a massive upgrade from the crappy studio apartment Michelle had six years ago. It was the fifteenth place they’d lived in together since they first met. 

“Speaking of Quentin,” she said as she reached into their fridge and pulled out a twenty ounce, uncooked steak, “he said he’s moving his base back to New York and he’d like us to join him.”

“Really?” Peter raised an eyebrow as he followed her to the kitchen.

**_“Why?” Venom questioned as his host sat at the island on one of the barstools._ **

“We’re the best in the game, what do you mean ’why?’” Michelle replied as she set the steak on a plate and set it on the island. 

“Fair enough,” Peter figured then smiled a thank you.

**_“Nice to see we’re all feeling modest today,” Venom sarcastically remarked._ **

“We always are,” Peter joked as he raised the hunk of meat to his lips and buried his teeth into it. 

“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that you’re good at something and taking pride in it,” Michelle pointed out. 

**_“But that’s bragging,” the symbiote disagreed, “which is a bad thing.”_ **

“Sometimes, yeah,” she patiently explained, “but sometimes you earn the right to brag, and bragging a little feels good— like a little confidence boost, y’know?”

**_“No, I don’t know,” Venom hissed as he glowered down at Peter who was already half-way done with his steak._ **

“Peter, what have you been teaching him?” Michael asked in a semi-joking manner. 

“Low self-confidence,” Peter answered, his voice slightly muffled by the bite of meat stuffed in his mouth.

**_“Maybe I’m only saying this for foreshadowing purposes, but you would make a horrible father,” Venom deadpanned._ **

Peter swallowed his bite then nodded, “oh yeah, undoubtedly.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Michelle urged as she kissed the side of his head.

Peter flashed her a lopsided smile then tore into the steak once more. He had a handful of questions, but Venom had already read through them and silently agreed to ask them. 

**_“Quentin wants us to move with him, right?”_ **

“That’s what I said.”

**_“Did you give him a yes or no?”_ **

“I told him I needed to talk to you two first.”

**_“Peter doesn’t want to,” Venom said, sensing the waterfall of trauma and unidentifiable emotions that flooded the young man’s mind, “I think he’s scared.”_ **

Tears rushed to Peter’s eyes as his gaze dropped to the ground. With his appetite snatched away from him by the nauseating shame in his stomach, he set the last bite of his steak back down on his plate. Michelle eyed him closely for a moment then looked back at Venom, she still didn’t know exactly what Peter’s story was. She knew bits and pieces, but it wasn’t quite enough. 

“Why is he scared?” she asked gently. 

**_“The last time he was there, everything was ruined. It’s his fault, but he likes to blame me… makes him feel better.”_ **

Michelle sighed and her eyes trailed back to Peter who was resting his head in his hands. He desperately tried to block out Venom’s words and force the memories away.  _ It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault.  _ He despairingly tried to convince himself. 

Michelle walked behind Peter and wrapped her arms around his torso then rested her head on his shoulder blade. Venom merged back into Peter, giving the two a moment of privacy. Peter was trembling slightly, but the weight of Michelle’s slender body was just enough to ease his tense muscles.

“Babe, are you gonna talk to me?” Michelle asked softly, her voice heavily laced with concern.

“No,” he mumbled. 

“If you don’t talk to me, I don’t know if we should move or not, or if you need professional help or if it’s nothing I can't handle. I don't know what to do if you don't talk to me.”

Peter was silent a few moments before Michelle realized he wasn't going to reply. She exhaled softly then pressed her lips to his shoulder.

“I don’t know what happened, but it wasn't your fault,” she murmured. 

“You don't know that,” he replied, his voice weak with hurt. 

“I do know. Because I know you would never,  _ ever _ hurt someone you care about, not on purpose,” she tightened her grip on him. 

“Even if it wasn't on purpose, it's still my fault.”

“If it wasn't on purpose, it was nobody's fault-- it was an accident.”

He sighed and leaned back into her touch. She held him for as long as he needed-- she always did. She savored every moment that they were together and every second they spent with skin touching, because she knew this could be snatched away at any second. They could be caught and their apartment would be flooded with cops; a robbery could go wrong and one of them would die; there was even the dreadful possibility that they broke up and split ways.

“What do we have to drink?” Peter asked after many minutes of silence.

“We have wine,” she offered. 

“Hm… no. I need something really fucking strong,” he shook his head slightly. 

“I think we have whiskey.”

“Everclear?”

“Absolutely not!” she exclaimed, “we're sticking with whiskey.”

“Thank you,” he sighed as she let go of him and made her way to the fridge, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she hummed as she pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. 

Peter quietly observed her as she poured herself a shot of whiskey. All these years, he had been avoiding his fears and locking away his emotions in a prison he had built in the back of his mind. The only feelings he didn't lock away were the ones he had for Michelle— those ones he allowed to pour out every second of his day. Drinking was the perfect escape from reality for him. With his high metabolism it took a little extra to get drunk, but once he was there, it was damn near perfect. He also didn't mind smoking from time to time— even some occasional recreational drugs were nice to experiment with. Despite his time spent around drugs, he never had a problem with addiction— he assumed it had something to do with the way his DNA had been altered six years ago, but really he knew nothing about how that worked seeing as he never took the time to sit down and run tests. 

Michelle passed Peter the whiskey, not bothering to give him a shot glass. He muttered a thank you then raised the bottle to his lips, the aroma already comforting to his nerves. He took a sip and found himself quickly met by the warm burn that coated his throat in fire, along with the smoky and sweet taste of the alcohol. He had grown used to the burning sensation, he almost enjoyed it at this point. 

“Remember that one time you got so high that you accidentally threw your drink on to our bed instead of your phone?” Michelle recalled with a grin.

Peter pinched his eyebrows together and shook his head, “absolutely not.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” she leaned against a counter, a smile still painted on her lips. 

Peter's eyes trailed down to her lips and his heart fluttered with joy. It always did that when she smiled, he couldn't help but be illuminated with giddiness to see such a stunning sight— of course there were always bonus points when she smiled because of him. It was like a little drop of the sun on the brightest, most beautiful day entered his chest because  _ he did that.  _ He was enough to make his girlfriend smile, so maybe he wasn't such a failure. 

“Tell me more,” he requested, regaining eye contact. 

“There's not much to tell. We were drinking bourbon (I think) and you were already really high. But I eventually told you it was time to call it a night and you picked up your _full_ glass of bourbon instead of your phone-” 

“Oh, no.”

“I was already laying in bed, about to fall asleep-”

“Oh fuck no.”

“And you tossed your cup onto the bed, thinking it was your phone.  _ It went fucking everywhere—  _ all over the sheets, soaked my pillow, got in my hair,” she shook her head but her smile never left her lips, “but I was too tired and drunk to do anything about it, so I just left it.”

“No, Em that’s gross,” Peter laughed. 

“Well it’s true,” she chuckled— such a beautiful sound. 

“What did I do?”

“You went under the bed and fell asleep about five seconds later.”

“Geez,” he shook his head and took a few sips of whiskey, “what the hell was I on?”

“No clue,” she shrugged and sipped her own alcohol, “but it isn’t even the weirdest thing you’ve done.”

“Honestly, if someone were to record the crap I do when I’m drunk or high, I’d probably stop doing that shit,” Peter admitted.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she hummed. 

“Or you could just tell me you want me to stop. I’d stop for you,” he promised. 

“No need,” she shrugged, “I like messing around with you.”

He beamed and watched her take another sip of her drink, “y’know… it’s weird how even after six years, I still fall in love with you a little more everyday. Even though we’re past that ‘puppy love’ stage, I’m still so fucking in love with you.”

“Hah, loser,” she scoffed.

He laughed, “oh shut up, you know you feel the same.”

“Yeah, but I’m not about to say it aloud,” she raised her eyebrows at him.

Sporting a goofy grin, he shook his head playfully at her. 

The two had always been warned that they would fall out of love or grow tired of each other, yet they still haven't reached that stage of their relationship. They were well aware that didnt mean they would  _ never _ reach that stage, but it was nice to pretend their relationship was meant to last forever. Things were far from perfect between the two, even if it appeared that way. They had their fair share of arguments, disagreements, and had found themselves contemplating breaking up once. How were they still dating? Neither of them really knew, but it didn't matter— they were together, they were happy, and they weren't leaving each other anytime soon.

* * *

One drink followed another and before they knew it their vision was blurred and they were drunk enough that neither could stand up right. The floor looked as though it were flowing, like ocean waves. The walls of their home swirled and furniture blended together like a smudged painting got wrapped around their eyes.

“Peter,” Michelle called loudly, her speech slurred.

“C’mere,” Peter implored as he held out his hand from his place on their couch-- he lay sprawled out with his hoodie over his head. 

Michelle stumbled over to him and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her on top of him. She yelped in surprise and spread her hands across his chest to catch herself. Peter giggled successfully and she huffed then straddled his lap for a more comfortable position.

“Dummy,” Michelle scolded as she yanked his hoodie off his head.

“I wa-wanna marry you,” he hummed, “we should marry.”

“But,” she drew out the ’u’ excessively, “we don’t exist.”

Peter groaned dramatically, but Michelle was technically right. Upon becoming wanted criminals, the two had done some simple hacking and erased anything that confirmed their existence— birth certificates, hospital records, anything bearing their names. So, according to the government, they didn’t exist. 

“Well then…” he bumbled, “I’ll get you a really pretty ring.”

“I wanna pretty ring!” she exclaimed excitedly then lay her head on his chest, “I don’t like jewelry unless you give it to me.”

“Or if you steal it?”

“Nah,” she disagreed, “I jus’ like to sell it. But I like keeping the stuff you give me,”

“Why?”

”Incase something happens,” she shrugged.

He looked down at her, going slightly cross-eyed in the process, “like what?”

”If-“ she hiccuped, “if you... like... die or something.”

He raised an eyebrow, “why’d you say that?”

“I think you’re gonna die,” she blurted, “I think you’re gonna die soon.”

Peter blinked a few times then replied dumbly, “what?”

She spontaneously burst into tears, “I-i feel like you’re gonna die!”

Peter’s expression scrunched up into one of confusion, his brain not quite processing her words. She clutched him tightly and soaked his shirt with tears. He clumsily rubbed her back with one hand and found a few tears rolling down his cheeks, although he couldn’t explain the meaning behind them. 

“I won’t die,” he promised, “Venom won’t let me.”

She nodded quickly and drew in a deep breath, “y-yeah. Venom fucking loves you.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her lower back, hugging her tightly, “I fucking love you.”

“I know,” she replied, “I wanna drink more.”

His eyes trailed to the half-empty bottle of whiskey resting on the coffee table nearby and he extended one arm to attempt to reach it. He reached out as far as his arm would allow, wiggling his fingers as if that would make the whiskey float into his head. But, as any sober person would expect, the whiskey stayed put, several inches away from his fingertips. 

“Can’t reach it,” he groaned.

“Dummy,” Michelle declared. 

She sat upright, pushing off him awkwardly and making him grunt slightly. He watched as she leaned over and picked up the whiskey then took a sip. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he observed. 

“Do you remember the South Park theme song?” she asked, unintentionally ignoring his compliment.

“Uhh….” he thought for a moment, “going to South Park, gonna have myself a time… somethin’ somethin’ somethin’... HOWDY NEIGHBOR!... uh… somethin’ somethin’... yeah that’s all I got.”

Michelle burst into giggles and Peter grinned. 

“Did I do it right?” he asked hopefully. 

Michelle forced herself to set down the whiskey as her laughter shook her body. He watched her brilliant smile and giddy giggles as he waited for an answer. 

“I think you were close?” she replied once her laughter calmed down, “you used to watch that show  _ a lot _ and I fucking  _ hated  _ it.”

“Well, y-you used to read a lot and it was really cute watching your face change,” he huffed critically.

Again, she laughed and Peter joined her, not really understanding why she was laughing. 

He missed the days when she was obsessed with reading and would spend hours with her head buried in a book. As she read, he would lay next to her and watch her facial expressions shift and change with the story; her eyes going wide with horror, a tiny smile spreading across her lips, her eyebrows pinching together, all while completely absorbed in an imaginary world. Or, she would read non-fiction and have multiple moments where she would raise her eyebrows and mutter, “oh- oh shit.” Peter would ask her what she had discovered and she would set her book down, give him her full attention, then conduct a lengthy lesson to break down a single sentence. 

Michelle didn’t read much anymore. She was too occupied with robberies, plotting robberies, hustling crimelords for money, and drinking away any guilt that could possibly form as a result of her lifestyle. Occasionally she missed getting lost in a fantasy world, but for the most part she could recognize it as a waste of her time. 

For several moments, the two only gazed at each other with lazy smiles on their faces. Michelle closed her eyes then leaned forward and landed a sloppy kiss on Peter’s lips. He met her movements, snaking one hand around the back of her head to hold a handful of her curls and keep her close to him. Their mouths matched in taste— the pleasing, smoky taste of liquor— and they only seemed to grow more drunk with the gesture. Peter soaked in the feeling of her warm, soft lips that he would never grow tired of. Truthfully, he would do anything for this woman just to have her in his life. Well... almost anything.

Suddenly, Peter ousted himself from the kiss and shook his head. Michelle leaned away from him with her brow furrowed in confusion. 

“We’re not… we’re not going to New York,” he mumbled.

Michelle huffed, “This isn’t something you can just decide.”

“But, Em-”

“We gotta talk about it.”

“I thought-”

“I get you’re scared or whatever, but I can’t even care if you don’t tell me why.”

“Michelle!” he exclaimed in surprise.

“It’s true!” she snapped defensively, “you don’t fuckin’ talk to me about shit.”

“Ugh,” he groaned in annoyance then sat upright, “get the fuck of me.” 

“Peter, don't be like that,” she huffed.

“Get off,” he repeated then shoved her away from him as he stood up, his legs wobbling underneath him.

She looked up at him furiously, “the hell’d I do?”

He ignored her, clumsily managed to pick up the bottle of whiskey, then stumbled into the kitchen. She watched him from the couch, the image of her boyfriend swayed fluidly, making it hard for her to focus on him. 

Peter raised the bottle to his lips and chugged the remaining whiskey. She may have had a fuzzy mind, but Michelle could recognize the dangers in gulping half a container of liquor that quickly. 

“Peter, don’t!” she scolded, mildly panicked. 

He shook his head as if that would make the alcohol sink in faster. Then, he fumbled with the refrigerator door until it opened. He reached inside and pulled out another bottle of whiskey, making anxiety flare in Michelle’s chest. 

“Stop!” she cried. 

“Shut the fuck up!” he barked, “I’m not fucking going to New York!”

She shakily stood up, using the back of the couch to hold herself up, “we have to! It’s the only work we got!”

He took a massive sip then shot back, “we can get jobs!”

“No, Peter,” she hissed.

“No?” he echoed as he approached her, “no, Peter, no. Like I’m a fuckin dog or somethin?!”

“I’m sorry,” she frantically apologized, noticing the way his expression had darkened into one of pure fury, “sit down, please. You’re gonna hurt someone.”

He growled in frustration then clumsily sat down, in a half-falling-half-sitting motion. Michelle stumbled around the couch and stopped a foot away from him, just to be safe. She watched Peter as he rubbed his face in distress with one hand and clutched the liquor with the other. His shoulders shook slightly and a few tears rolled down his cheeks as he choked in a wobbly breath of air. 

“I-i watched him die there,” he sobbed, “I c-can’t… I can’t do it, Em.”

She scooted a little closer to him then sat on her knees in front of him, “I think we’re both too drunk for this.”

He nodded stiffly then ineptly wiped his tears off his cheeks then chugged a few more sips of whiskey— he couldn't even feel it burning his throat anymore. Michelle anxiously reached for the bottle but he held it out of her reach. He still cried softly, making Michelle’s own eyes grow wet with tears. She despised seeing him in pain— it made her wish Venom could heal emotional trauma as flawlessly as he could heal physical wounds. 

For a few minutes she watched him closely. He was too distraught to notice her as he gulped down as much whiskey as he could handle in a short amount of time. His head was rapidly growing more and more disoriented and his coordination eventually failed him and he could hardly move the bottle to his mouth without hitting his cheek, chin, or nose first.

“Please stop drinking,” Michelle requested, “you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“But it hurts,” he shuddered, his voice noticeably more slurred than before, “it hurts and I want it to stop.”

“What hurts? What is it?”

He set down the liquor then reached for Michelle, “C’mere.”

She crawled onto his lap and he wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head in the crook of her neck. They sat in silence for a few moments as Michelle played with his hair and he cried quietly. She really needed him to stop avoiding her questions, it only worried and frustrated her further each time he did. But at the moment, she was almost scared to say anything to him— even in her drunk state. Peter could be unpredictable to say the least.

“Why do you think I’m gonna die?” he bumbled softly after a while.

“When did I say that?” she frowned.

“I dunno. But you said it.”

Michelle let out a soft sigh then pushed Peter away from her, “take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“Wanna have-”

“Oh!” he exclaimed upon realizing her intentions, “right here on the floor?” 

“Yeah, I don’t wanna wait,” she chuckled as he hurriedly move to take off his shirt, but not without some difficulty that resulted in Michelle removing it for him. 

She tossed the shirt off to the side then splayed her hands across his muscular chest and he leaned forward, pulling her into a kiss. Just like everything else in their relationship, that kiss escalated rather quickly. 

Peter’s favorite moments would forever be the ones that mirrored the next few minutes. Venom was quiet. The trauma was quiet. The self-loathing was quiet. The world went quiet. He could focus on Michelle and nothing but her. For a few minutes, she could have his undivided attention as he explored her dancer-like body with his hands and lips like she was the only other person on the planet. 

Alcohol could always please Peter, but Michelle was the only one who could bring him euphoria. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s all downhill from here ❤️.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you kinda enjoy?
> 
> (Expect slow updates)


End file.
